Terror of Vengeance
by Memory in Crimson
Summary: Bakura takes a wrong turn during the Battle City tournament and runs into bloodthirsty beast. Turns out Malik's father is alive and well, although still a bit miffed about his murder. He's looking to "reconnect" with his son, and Bakura is going to help him whether he wants to or not...


**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise, and I make no profit from making this fanfiction.

**Rated: **M for violence and some language.

* * *

"Terror of Vengeance"

Bakura didn't fear much from taking 'wrong' turns or venturing into shadier portions of town. Despite his landlord's frail appearance, Bakura was fully capable of dispatching any obstacles that happened into his path. But one night, during the Battle City Tournament, he landed in a strange circumstance with yet another visitor, even more unwelcome than that Malik Ishtar.

Having robbed whom he considered a snivelling and unworthy brat, Bakura proceeded as usual to walk the dark and narrow alleys to save himself some time. He immediately noticed the tall shadows that had began to follow him, and at first, he assumed they were Malik's minions. It wasn't until they stepped before and behind him that he realised they were no duelists.

Predictably, their leader, a rather tall, smarmy-looking high schooler, stepped forth with a switch-blade and said, "All right, pretty boy, if you don't want us to carve up your face, you'll give us your cash, stash, and whatever else you got."

Predictably for Bakura, neither the threat nor its messenger put him in any fright.

"I'd be oh-so-impressed if you were actually intimidating," he said. "I'm not exactly shaking over a bunch of children trying to be men."

The leader chuckled. "I do love me a smart ass. Makes me feel less guilty when I cut 'im up real good."

Then with a snap of his fingers, one of the thieves lunged. Bakura glided out of the way of his blade and seized his arm. He smashed his face with his elbow and caught the knife as it fell from his grip. Another punk charged and cursed as Bakura opened up his cheek.

"You rotten, little pretty boy," the leader growled. "Kill this little bitch!"

The other young men hollered as they rushed at Bakura. He sneered and raised his left arm, using his duel disk as a makeshift shield. He had no qualms about taking their lives, when suddenly, the foremost assailant vanished.

"The hell?" the others said as they stopped dead in their tracks. And Bakura, likewise, had to admit he was equally puzzled. They all heard metal rattling, the shuffle of shoes on the concrete, and the grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the vanished young man cried out in the darkness, gasping and what sounded like gurgling.

"The hell was that, Sendousha?" one of the young men asked.

The leader narrowed his eyes. "How in the hell should I—"

The massive shadow that had brought down the first punk attacked the other thief. He hit the wall with a sickening thud, and the shadow growled.

"G… g… guys…"

In another instant, he cried out as the sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking was clearly heard by all. The shadowy mass threw him to the ground, and what looked to Bakura to be a misshapen head latched onto the victim's throat. Two of the thieves cried in horror and fled, while their leader and other comrade stood paralysed by fear.

"S-Senjou… Not him, man," the one thief stuttered. "No man, no!"

The creature whipped around and stared at the young thief. Two violet eyes flashed in the dim light and narrowed on the new target. The young thief barely had time to scream as the creature slashed opened his throat with one blow, nearly severing his head from his neck.

"You son of bitch!" the leader growled. "I'm sendin' you straight to hell!"

The leader loomed over the mass. A blood-soaked grin (if Bakura could call it a grin) shone. The mass caught the young man by the wrist and the throat and held him high with seemingly no effort. It growled through those teeth, inhuman and guttural. For once in a rare moment, a decent amount of fear made its way into Bakura's heart, and he backed against the wall, standing stock-still.

"P-please," the leader begged, "don't kill me, man."

Those massive jaws opened wide, and the mass brought his throat right between them. A fleshy crunch sent a chill down Bakura's spine as the young man gasped hopelessly, his knife clattering on the ground as the life drained slowly from him. The creature tore out his throat and clawed open his chest, prying forth a still-beating heart and chewing on it.

_I don't suppose I'm getting out of this alive_, Bakura thought, nose wrinkling in disgust. _And with so much unfinished business._

The creature suddenly looked up from its meal straight into Bakura's wide eyes. The spirit cursed. Then he forced a grin and said, "I don't suppose I can beg for my life with you, can I?"

The creature rose slowly and stalked toward Bakura. His grin fell, and his grip tightened on his knife, though he kept it by his side. The creature growled under its breath, staring at him, seeking any hint that Bakura would attack, any excuse to do him in the way the others had been. The spirit studied him back, trying to peer through those glowing, violet eyes to whatever beastly thoughts were running through its mind. Without any warning, the creature doubled over and howled in pain.

Bones cracked as its body seemed to shrink and shift. The inhuman howl became more human, and the being lost its guttural sound.

_What is this? _Bakura thought. _Some damned werewolf in Domino City?_

Then he gazed a little more carefully (although certainly not more closely), and he suddenly recognized that creamy blonde hair. He cursed under his breath.

"No damned way," he said, and he thought, _What the hell? That little bastard is some kind of shapeshifter? Gods, and here I thought he made an empty threat to kill me the other day._

"Malik, you bastard," he growled. "As much as I appreciate a good, old bloodbath, you very well could have killed me, you—"

When the man lifted his head, it was very obvious he wasn't Malik. Yet that hair was the same, and those eyes, those violet, predatory eyes were definitely the same. He was older, with hollow cheeks and a beard, and was much taller than Malik. He was also a tad more conservatively dressed, with black long-sleeved shirt and black trousers.

"Who the devil are you?" Bakura growled.

The man trembled as he rose, but his wild and dangerous eyes never stopped staring into Bakura's. The face that had been deformed and flexible with sadistic pleasure had hardened from their silent confrontation.

"Humph… You have a Millennium Item," he noted.

Déjà vu, Bakura thought to his displeasure. This freak of nature was definitely related to Malik; it couldn't have been some mere coincidence. He'd probably have to beat him off, too, to keep him from taking the ring.

Bakura barely had time to react as the man pinned him against the wall. In a flash, the spirit brandished the tip of the knife against his throat, ready to piece it if he drew any closer.

"Who the hell did you steal it from?" he shouted.

"This ring is mine, old man," Bakura growled. Then he smirked and continued: "You could say it's my winter cabin, while this young host is my summer house."

The man tipped his head. "Host?"

"Indeed," he said, "and I'd much rather you not tear out his throat and rip out his heart. Not until I'm finished with my plans, anyway."

The older man backed away, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Host, you say? Hmm."

Bakura frowned. "Does it really beg repeating? Anyway, you never answered my question. Who the hell are you?"

The older man drummed his fingers against his side. Clearly, he ignored the question again when he began: "I'm looking for a young man. He'll definitely stand out among the competitors—"

"If he looks anything like you, I'm sure. What's _his_ name?" _If you won't give me yours._

"Malik Ishtar."

"Well, what a coincidence!" Bakura mustered all his sarcasm as he approached the older man cautiously. "Why, just the other day, some blond, purple-eyed Egyptian brat with the same name threatened to kill me as well. However, we did find some common ground, and for the while, we are associates."

When the older man's eyes widened with surprise, Bakura sneered. He looked utterly insane. He _was_ utterly insane; Bakura could feel the madness emanating from him and hitting him like rough waves. The man grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as he demanded:

"Where is he? Where is he now?"

"How should I know?" Bakura growled. "I'm certainly not his keeper. If he's lucky, he'll make it to the finals, but you'll not find him unless you're in the tournament. So I suggest, along with unhanding me, that you not trouble yourself trying to find him."

The older man shoved him against the wall and stomped away, pacing back and forth and growling in some strange, guttural language. He kicked one of the corpses and kneeled, murmuring to himself as he drummed his fingers on the bloodied ground. Taking this as his sign to finally depart, Bakura began to creep away, inferring that if he ran, the man… creature… whatever or whoever the hell he was would pursue him.

_God_, he profaned, _I shudder at the thought there might be more of them about town._

"Ah!"

Without warning, the man appeared before him, hands in his pocket, his wild eyes grown cooler with some thought.

"What do you want now?" Bakura growled. "Were those wretched students not enough?"

"I'm not going to kill you… yet," the man said. "I can't find Malik alone. And if you help me, it'll certainly help extend your unworthy life."

Bakura harrumphed. He was growing very weary very quickly of all the threats being made upon his host's body. Oh sure, he had injured him a couple of times but never enough to imperil himself as well. But who was he to argue with this strange and unstable man?

"Fine. But if I'm going to help you," said Bakura, "you'll at least give me the convenience—if not courtesy—of having a name by which to call you. So what is it?"

An unusually long and sharp cuspid gleamed in the man's one-sided grin. "Ishtar."

"Humph! And I'm guessing you're his handsome and available older brother?" Bakura marked with mocking gesticulations.

"Father."

"Oh! That was my next guess," Bakura sneered, and he began to walk out of the alley with Ishtar in tow.

"What about your victims? Surely, that isn't the simplest mess to hide."

"Never you mind," Ishtar said as he glanced back at the corpses. "They tend to take care of themselves."

Then one of the corpses started to smoke as if smouldering. Ishtar grinned and turned his head forward. Bakura would never see the corpses go up in flames, though he would hear about the incident later. Malik's father was indeed a dangerous creature, but Bakura had no idea to how far those dark abilities extended.


End file.
